Cinnamon, teaching, Rumi

November 13, 2015

Cinnamon, ginger, water. Cinnamon is different here, kind of like the olives, no comparison with what’s to be found in the North American supermarkets. I got sticks. You just put them, many of them, in hot water. Wait a little, then: wow. Today I first heated up the ginger in the water then poured that mix over the sticks. Wow. My room smells of cinnamon. I should check the benefits of cinnamon.

Then helva, this paste made from sesame seeds. Sweet. Again, nothing compares. This comes from Ali Muhiddin Haci Bekir, :Since 1777″ the bag says… 1777 that’s a long time ago, it was before the Republic, before the two world wars, before the Napoleonic wars… and they give the stuff in biodegradable bags…

The day was incredible, we’ve been blessed lately with warm, sunny weather. T-shirt weather actually. The gold light over the walls of the Galata neighborhood. That light gives me life and hope. The down side of this weather is that mosquitoes are back… They kept me up until 6 AM last night. I was about to lose my mind. I’ve got bites on my neck, scalp, fingers…

Ah you want to know about the job. Well… I was like Perrette, the girl with the milk jar… making plans about all the things she was going to do with the money from selling the milk at the market, then the pot fell and the milk was spilt. I was just focusing on the money I thought was coming into my hot little hands and I didn’t think much farther than my nose. Payday was Tuesday and when I saw the total on my envelope, my heart sank… I only got paid for two weeks, I was expecting 3. My dreams of getting a new bed to relieve my incredibly sore back and being able to have a restful night of sleep evaporated. I got just enough to pay rent, buy the bus fare for the month and a little bit left over to survive for the next 4 weeks. I felt despair. It has been such a struggle, I expected relief and it didn’t come. I hate jobs. I hate that stuff, the pressure you are put under to make someone else a bunch of money while they don’t care what you have to go through just to show up. When you do show up you are put into the grinder like a side of beef and you should still smile and say thank you. I have been coming to the school for interviews, for training sessions for observation sessions then I started to work since late September, it’s a long, long time to have to work without any income. I must pay for bus, eat, you know that sort of stuff. So it was like reaching out for relief and getting the door slammed in your face.

The job itself: It can be absolute hell and absolute goodness. I am not sure I’m really cut out for this. I’m not sure of anything. I resent this like I resented going to school. The “system” just wears me out on a psychological and spiritual level. I can’t explain. I feel trapped and I go from anger to despair. Logically yeah I know; it’s just a job. It starts, it ends, you get a pay cheque. But I do it’s a kind of true hell, and I look at it and I try to reason with myself and I go up and down and see that it’s no big deal but it is dread every morning that I head out there. I want to run away. The work itself: There are moments where I am petrified. Not knowing how to answer the questions, I speak, write English, but I am not an English teacher… I have the energy but am I truly giving these people what they are coming there for? I’m not sure. Could I not give a shit? That would make things simple… But, no I can’t not give a shit. I care and I want to run all at once.

This could all be summed up this way: this is temporary. Don’t worry so much. OK Ohmmmmm…. relax. hm.. OK.

Ideally I should find work that is walking distance from my home. Possibly, if I am to continue this type of work I should get some sort of teaching certificate and maybe another institution would give me a bit more support than this one. I definitely must continue my “continuing education”. I had just started web development classes when I started this job, I should muscle through my tiredness and study the knowledge, that sort of work would be much more in line with my temper. I must continue doing creative things or I’ll wither like a flower on the first frosted morning. It’s been challenging to do so as I’ve just been exhausted beyond my will to do anything.

I’m thankful for the Tuesday nights at Jurnal Rango. Last Tuesday I played with Alican and oh how good it was to have the guitar in my arms and to play. I’ll enjoy that as long as it will go on.

I’m immensely, endlessly thankful for the love I have in my life. I am really coming to the conclusion that the only thing that has any value, the only thing that matters in one’s life is love. Love, love, love.

Here’s a poem from Rumi. It stopped me in my tracks last week:

NO EXPECTATIONS

A spirit that lives in this world
and does not wear the shirt of love,
such an existence is a deep disgrace.

Be foolishly in love,
because love is all there is

There is no way into presence
except through a love exchange.

If someone asks, But what is love?
answer, Dissolving the will.

True freedom comes to those
who have escaped the questions
of freewill and fate

Love is an Emperor.
The two worlds play across him.
He barely notices their tumbling game.

Love and lover live in eternity.
Other desires are substitutes
for that way of being

How long do you lay embracing a corpse?
Love rather the soul, which cannot be held.

Anything born in spring dies in the fall,
but love is not seasonal

With wine pressed from grapes,
expect a hangover

But this love path has no expectations.
You are uneasy riding the body?
Dismount. Travel lighter.
Wings will be given.

Be clear like a mirror
reflecting nothing.

Be clean of pictures and the worry
that comes with images.

Gaze into what is not ashamed
or afraid of any truth.

Contain all human faces in your own
without any judgment of them.

Be pure emptiness.
What is inside of that? you ask.
Silence is all I can say.

Lovers have some secrets
that they keep.

OK… must end off here, it’s getting late and tomorrow AM it’s a 7:30 wake up call and a long, long day. Hopefully the mosquitoes will leave me be…

ODY

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One Response to “Cinnamon, teaching, Rumi”

  1. Francoise Says:

    Je comprend ce que tu dis. J’en suis ai meme point ai Canada. Quelles song les solutions? Je questionne aussi. Bidousssssssssssssss


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